


Sweetheart's Delight

by Bloodsbane



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Absorption, Ambiguous Relationships, Assimilation, Canon Compliant, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, F/M, Friendship, Happy Ending, Hive Mind, Humor, Identity Issues, Light Angst, Loneliness, M/M, Multi, Poly Archives, Polyamory, Sexy Leitner Week (The Magnus Archives), Slime, The Lonely - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28951152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodsbane/pseuds/Bloodsbane
Summary: It’s as Martin’s making his slow way down the aisle holding discount dishware and old hand-me-down tea sets that he steps on something, which crinkles beneath his shoe. He pulls back and looks down to find a sheet of paper. The back of it is blank, but when he picks it up and flips it over, curious, he finds a recipe.It looks like it was torn right out of some cookbook, but despite being treated so roughly, the page itself seems largely undamaged. There’s not even a crease from when Martin stepped on it. In the very back of his mind, this seems strange, but Martin finds himself more interested in the colorful picture of a jelly parfait in the upper-right corner of the page.Sweetheart’s Delightsays the bold text beside it.A delicious treat for friends and loved ones.There’s a little blurb about the dish, boasting its versatility in satisfying any sort of palette. Despite saying it’s perfect for groups and gatherings, though, Martin notices the recipe only accounts for a single serving. How odd.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James, Martin Blackwood/Sasha James/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 16
Kudos: 79





	Sweetheart's Delight

**Author's Note:**

> Here's my second entry for Sexy Leitner Week! This wasn't inspired by the generator or the prompts, just a random idea I jokingly pitched on twitter and then realized I then absolutely had to write. I also drew art for it, which I will link in the end notes. 
> 
> I also wanted to offer a bit of context for something: a lot of things are kept vague in this fic, including what Martin looks like after he absorbs any of the others. I say let your imagination run wild and choose whatever kinda mental visual you like! I also didn't mention any specific colors/flavors for the parfait/Martin, so it's your city. If you're curious about my personal interpretations, though, see end notes.
> 
> Please see end notes for content warnings as well! 
> 
> Special thanks to bresby and Kiore for beta-reading~

It’s as Martin’s making his slow way down the aisle holding discount dishware and old hand-me-down tea sets that he steps on something, which crinkles beneath his shoe. He pulls back and looks down to find a sheet of paper. The back of it is blank, but when he picks it up and flips it over, curious, he finds a recipe. 

It looks like it was torn right out of some cookbook, but despite being treated so roughly, the page itself seems largely undamaged. There’s not even a crease from when Martin stepped on it. In the very back of his mind, this seems strange, but Martin finds himself more interested in the colorful picture of a jelly parfait in the upper-right corner of the page. _Sweetheart’s Delight_ says the bold text beside it. _A delicious treat for friends and loved ones._

There’s a little blurb about the dish, boasting its versatility in satisfying any sort of palette. Despite saying it’s perfect for groups and gatherings, though, Martin notices the recipe only accounts for a single serving. How odd. 

Still, it looks pretty good. He feels the slightest bit guilty folding the page up and hiding it away in his pocket before leaving the thrift store, but it’s not like he took an entire book, and who knows if the page itself came from the store anyway. No one’s going to notice or mind. 

* * *

The recipe is pretty simple, sporting a list of ingredients small and inexpensive enough that Martin doesn’t mind swinging by the grocery store to pick up a few things before heading home. 

He spends his evening stirring jelly blocks in boiling water until they’ve dissolved, cutting bits of fruit, and mixing some of it with whipped cream. The instructions include lines like “make sure there’s love in every bite” and “it’s important to put a bit of yourself into the mix” which Martin can’t help but find charming, if corny. Then he puts it all in the fridge to chill through the night. 

On his way to bed, Martin notices a cut on his thumb. It’s small, but when he presses his other finger against it, hissing at the faint sting, a little bead of blood comes up. Huh, he can’t remember using anything so sharp in the kitchen earlier. Martin sticks the wound in his mouth to suck on it and puts it out of his mind. 

* * *

The Sweetheart’s Delight looks even better in the morning than it did when Martin put it away. He can’t help cooing at the dish, proud of himself for how well it turned out. The jelly looks shiny and smooth, mixing with the whip in a lovely swirl that looks very pretty through the small glass cup he used. 

It’s not exactly a proper breakfast, but Martin finds he can’t stand waiting to see if it tastes as good as it looks. He grabs a spoon and reverently takes a bite. 

Before he knows it, the glass is empty, and he’s licking its sweetness from his fingertips. 

* * *

Martin comes into work a bit earlier than usual, feeling oddly energetic. He thinks it must have been the recipe, his secret happiness and pride at making it so well his first try. Cooking is a necessary skill that Martin has long since mastered, but he’s not used to baking or making little, frivolous treats. It’s not often he even has the energy for something that requires more than a couple of steps. It’s nice to have made something on the fly and have it turn out so well, even if it was something as simple as jelly. As Martin settles in at his desk, he pulls out a sticky note and writes a reminder for himself to pick up more supplies so he can make it again, maybe bring it into work tomorrow so the others can share. 

Jon’s already in his office, Martin knows, but despite wanting to see his friend, Martin’s determined not to bother him. He and Jon are on much better terms these days, which Martin really likes — awkward crush notwithstanding. Jon’s good company when he’s not uber-stressed and snapping over the smallest things. Martin likes spending time with him. He wishes he could get up right now and say hello, good morning, but Jon’s not really a good morning sort of person, and he’d get annoyed, so Martin stays where he is. 

He tries to work, really he does. But it’s difficult. Not in the usual way, exactly, when concepts won’t connect and it’s just so hard to focus. He feels… a little bit off. Restless, swinging back and forth in his chair never settling on a task. He keeps looking at Jon’s door, thinking about Jon, and maybe this crush is getting a bit out of hand? More intense than he thought? Because he can’t stop thinking and wanting. Martin thinks this is silly; he should get his mind off Jon and do something to help him focus. Tea might help. Do they have anything good in the pantry, he wonders, getting up and heading for the breakroom. He could really use something sweet right about now. 

As he’s boiling water, he hears someone come in. “Morning!” It’s Sasha. Martin glances at the clock on the wall and finds himself giddy over the fact that it’s officially work hours. That means Tim will be here soon, too, so everyone will be here with him. He likes that. 

“Morning, Sasha!” Martin gives her a smile as she passes the doorway. Sasha waves, then goes into the main part of the office to put down her purse. Martin hopes she comes back. He calls after her to say, “I’m making some tea, do you want a cup?” 

“Oh, sure! What kind?”

“Here, come look.” 

There’s a moment of silence, just a moment, but then Martin hears footsteps and he can’t help but smile again at the thought of Sasha being in the room with him. He likes Sasha. Sometimes she can be a little cold; he thinks, sometimes, it’s hard for her to be interested in others. She’s a lot like Jon in that she’s curious and inquisitive, but only about things she likes, and that means if she doesn’t like something, she doesn’t pay as much attention. That’s fine, Martin understands. It’s hard to care about everyone and everything all the time — it’s a lot of work and sometimes it makes you very, very tired, but Martin thinks he would rather care a lot than not at all. 

Which isn’t to say Sasha doesn’t care. She’s nice to Martin, at least. There are times he feels a little guilty, or a little shy, because he knows that Sasha doesn’t think too much of him. She gets that look in her eye — the look he gets from others a lot — the one that tells him he’s doing something wrong that should be obvious, and why doesn’t he know any better? But at least she’s not mean about it. Sasha just helps him along, or corrects him and shows him what the right way is. She shouldn’t have to, but she does. Martin appreciates it a lot. 

“What’s this, then?” Sasha asks, coming into the breakroom. She gives Martin a bit of a look, like amusement, maybe surprise? He’s not sure, but he likes it, likes that she’s looking at him. She’s the first person who’s looked at him today. Not like a stranger looks, but like a friend looks, someone who knows you and likes what they see. Something in Martin ripples. He shudders and smiles back... or was he already smiling? 

“It’s rooibos tea,” he tells her, holding up the box. “I don’t think anyone’s touched it in a while, but it looked alright to me. Do you want to try some?”

“Sure. So, you seem chipper today… Anything happen?”

“No, I’m just… happy,” Martin tells her, because it’s true. Then, when he remembers, “And I made something yesterday! It was really good, a jelly parfait! I could only make one serving at a time, though, isn’t that odd? I wonder if I could make more at once, or if I can only make one at a time.”

“Huh, that is weird. Sounds like you had fun, though.”

“It was fun! I want to make more, and then all of you could have some. What kind of flavors do you like? The book — well, it wasn’t a book, it was just one page, I found the recipe on the ground, funny enough… I mean, the book said, uh, it said ‘pick a flavor your loved ones will enjoy’, and I love you, so I want to know what flavor you like when I make it, okay? So you have to tell me-”

Sasha’s eyes are big, now, and there’s a little color in her cheeks as she holds up a hand. “Woah, woah, slow down there. Martin, how much sugar was in that thing? You’re going a mile a minute today.”

“I’m just happy and excited I think,” Martin tells her, and then the kettle is ready and he turns the heat off, grabbing two mugs he’d set off to the side. One was supposed to be for Jon, but Sasha can have it first. He pours the boiling water, saying, “I’m just thinking about, um, I like you and I like everyone else a lot, you know? Like I’m just really happy we’re friends!”

“...I like being friends, too,” Sasha says. When Martin glances over at her, she’s smiling, but is she? It seems to fit oddly on her face. Martin’s used to watching people’s expressions; he’s always worried about how people were feeling, and sometimes they don’t always say how they feel, so he has to pay attention. 

“Is something wrong, Sasha?” Martin asks, giving her a worried look, because he’s worried! He doesn’t want something to be wrong. If it is, that might make Sasha sad or upset, which would be awful, and what if that meant she didn’t want to stay anymore. Martin remembers Tim has mentioned once or twice the idea that Sasha might leave the Institute. She wanted the archivist job a lot, he told Martin once, in confidence when they were both a little tipsy. Sasha was kinda mad at Jon over it for a long time, which hurt Martin to hear — it wasn’t Jon’s fault. Sasha understood that, too, but it didn’t help that Jon acted stuffy and harsh for so long after, too. It hadn’t felt fair, it felt like Sasha was never going to go anywhere if she stayed, so maybe she would leave. Tim had sounded sad, but only a little. Martin remembers feeling sad, too. He feels sad now just thinking about it. He doesn’t want Sasha to leave! She’s his friend, and he loves her, and- the idea of her leaving feels almost unbearable in the moment. 

Without meaning to, Martin frowns, and feels tears coming to his eyes. His distress must be obvious, because Sasha’s quick to offer her awkward brand of comfort. “O-oh! No, Martin, I’m fine! Nothing’s wrong, promise, just-”

She moves to put a hand on his. When it touches Martin, he feels the gentle weight of her. Her form, her realness. She’s here now, and that’s good. She’s here with him. Her hand against his skin is a solid reminder that he’s not alone and she’s his friend. Sasha notices, after just a second or two, that Martin’s skin feels… odd. Martin loves how connected they feel. Sasha tries to move, pull away a little, but there’s resistance. His skin is… sticky?

“Martin… what’s going on?” Sasha asks. There’s a little something almost like fear beginning to spark in the back of her skull. She pulls back and brings some of Martin along with her. His skin has a sheen to it, faintly translucent where it hangs in strings between her fingertips and his body. She stares at it, mesmerized, worried, and Martin’s quick to take her hand in both of his, wanting to calm her down. He tells her, “Don’t worry,” and Sasha looks into his eyes and sees they’re shimmering in a way that is distinctly unnatural. Her hand between his hands becomes their hand; she disappears into him, until only her wrist is there. “Oh god.” 

They both stare, curious and pleased as the quality of Martin’s body becomes her own. Sasha thinks this is probably bad, and Martin thinks so too, but more importantly, he thinks it’s nice to feel her like this. Something in Sasha is soothing, reassuring. He hums and takes a step closer, trapping her just a bit against the countertop, against the wall. Sasha lets out a shaky breath, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, his firm stomach, her breasts pressing up against him as his thigh slips between her legs. Was this okay? _Sorry, is this okay?_

Sasha fidgets, but there’s no escaping it, she realizes. And more than that, it doesn’t feel bad. She kinda likes it, really, likes watching as skin and cloth become one, sinking away and into something bigger, and Martin’s body is quite comfortable, and he’s kissing her forehead, and it is sweet, he’s always so sweet she thinks, a little wryly, and then they blush. 

They are in the breakroom, suddenly alone. There are two mugs full of tea. They wait a moment longer, to make sure they’ve steeped for long enough, before picking one of the mugs and removing the tea bag. They take a sip, and hum in unison at the sweet flavor. 

_I like pomegranate,_ they think. _Because you asked earlier. Oh! That’s nice!_ They take another sip of tea, wandering around the breakroom, luxuriating in togetherness. 

They hear someone come in. Tim! They peek through the doorway to see him tossing a bag into his desk chair. He’s humming, glancing around. “Sasha?” he calls. “Ey, Marto, you guys here?” 

“We’re here!” They say, waving from the other room. Tim turns to look at them, a grin already on his face, but then he freezes. His body gets tense, and Martin doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look like that before. 

“...Martin?” Tim takes a step back. Pauses, tilts his head, squinting. “I- Sasha? Is that… What the hell is going on?” 

“It’s me,” they tell him, and they smile, because they don’t want him to worry. Tim can get worried so easily, sometimes; it’s cute and only sometimes overbearing. He needs someone to care about, they think, someone who’ll let him. He tried to do that for Jon back in research, a little. Stuck to him in unified solitude, sometimes quiet, sometimes chatty, charming, like he is with everyone. Jon put up a good fight for a long time, but Tim was easy to love. They wondered if he knew. Does he know they love him? He should know! “Tim, I’m so glad you’re here.” 

“What the fuck...” Tim says. Then, a little weakly, he calls out, “Jon?”

“Jon’s in his office still,” Martin says, disappointed. They take a few steps toward Tim. He’s shivering, like he’s not sure where to go, and it makes him look so dreadfully small. Sasha’s shorter than them, only Jon is shorter than her, and it hurts her to see him like this. She reaches out a hand. “Tim, it’s okay… You don’t have to be scared.” 

“You… You’re not Sasha.” 

“I’m Sasha!” she says, a little indignant. Then, after a second of thinking about it, “I’m Martin, too. We’re both in here, and it’s lovely.” They get an idea, grinning as they quicken their approach. “You could be, too!” 

“No!” Tim jolts back so quickly he trips over his chair, stumbling until he’s half-fallen over his desk. He climbs atop it, trying to escape their advance. Without thinking much on it, only knowing they want to be close, to touch, Martin and Sasha reach out to grab at Tim’s ankle. He’s wearing shorts today, with silly, colorful socks, and they love when he wears those socks, he’s so cute. The socks have little posh dinosaurs with monocles on them in bright, saturated colors. They coo and seep into the fabric, seep into his skin. 

Tim shivers at the cool-warm sensation. He can feel it, the way they seep inside. Translucent to opaque as their wrist then arm ooze and mold around his body. He both does and does not want to try kicking — _Don’t kick, please!_ — away from them, yet now he knows he’s already stuck. 

It’s maybe not so bad, despite his fear. Their touch is more warm than it is cold. As they move closer, they tug his leg, tug him into themself, until their body is between his open legs. A hand finds his neck, resting there gently, heavy, inviting his pulse inside. Tim looks at their fading freckles and curling hair and the little gap between Sasha’s teeth, the rosy brown of Martin’s eyes. 

Tim lets go, but not before shouting, “Jon! Jon!” And then they’re kissing him, because they know Tim likes to be kissed, and he does, usually, maybe even now he doesn’t mind it. They taste sweet. Tim licks into their mouth, lets them lick back, fill him up, take him in. He wants to kick but doesn’t bother. They’re happy when they stop resisting. 

Behind them, they hear a voice, a question, muffled. A door opens. Tim is gone, his desk messy but empty, and they turn to see Jon standing in the open doorway of his office. 

Jon’s staring at them. He looks tidy, nicer than he used to in the mornings. He always comes in too early, so stubborn, trying too hard. He worries so much about looking professional, doesn’t he know they don’t care? They just like him. They’re friends, it doesn’t matter if he’s their boss. “Hi, Jon,” they say, smiling, glad to see him. 

“...Where… where did Tim go?” Jon asks, his voice hardly a whisper. He’s trembling. They tilt their head and click their tongue — there’s no reason to be afraid, they want to tell him. 

“Tim’s here,” they say instead, because he asked a question, and maybe answering will make him feel better. Jon likes to know where he stands. He gets frustrated and snippy when his questions aren’t answered. It’s not his best trait, but that’s okay, because they love him. He’s a good friend, in the end; he can be so kind and thoughtful, even if he’s bad at showing it. They want to show him how much they care. 

He doesn’t seem to enjoy the way they get closer, though. Jon steps away from his office, glancing first towards the stairway leading up, then the other way, deeper into the archives. Tim realizes he’s going to run, and Sasha wants to laugh, and Martin can only manage a quick, “Jon, wait-” before he’s off. 

_Poor thing!_ They think, hurrying after him. _Silly! There’s no reason to worry. So high-strung, he really needs to relax more._

It takes a little while to find Jon. He’s faster than they are, small and frantic. Jon’s so cute, he can tuck himself into all sorts of spaces around the archive. They found him, once, curled up behind one of the bookshelves, in need of a quiet dark place to collect himself. He’d been embarrassed, had tried to get up and leave when they found him, but they’d let him know it was okay, and held his hand until he felt better. 

A swell of affection and want spurs them on. The archive seems so big, too big for just them. It should be full of people, but who else would there be? Not mum, no, no relatives, no brothers or sisters. There are others, sort-of-friends, maybe-friends, but no one like Jon or Tim or Martin or Sasha. It’s odd how things have changed. They chat and hang out more often, help each other, ask _Are you feeling okay?_ or _Do you want some help?_ It’s nice. It’s so nice. It’s lonely without it. So lonely. They have to find Jon. 

Eventually there’s nowhere else to look but the back room, dark and cold, forgotten with all the loose files and old filing cabinets that stick when you try to open them. They don’t see him at first, but hear his breathing, very faint, too fast, in one dusty corner. They hope there aren’t any spiderwebs back there, or Jon would be very upset, and what if he was still too scared to move away? Oh, poor thing, poor thing. 

“Jon?” they call, quietly. He still flinches. Turns to stare at them, glare at them, trembling as they approach. 

“Leave me alone,” he snaps, but there’s no bite to his words. He looks so scared. They kneel down on the floor, so they aren’t so big, hoping it makes him feel better. “Y-you… you did something to Tim. You ate him, you-”

“I didn’t eat me,” Tim tells him. “I’m Tim, and Sasha, and Martin. You could be us, too, Jon.”

“I don’t… want to,” Jon tells them. He pushes himself away from them, into the corner, curled up and so small and precious. It’s no wonder they love him so much. They want him to be happy and feel safe so badly, it hurts. It hurts like the empty archives. It hurts like the quiet breakroom. It hurts like the early morning, only sunlight and dust motes, no sound in the flat but their own steady breathing. Hurts like disappointment, frustration, lust and loneliness. 

“Jon, Jon,” they chant, imploring. Reaching out, they take his trembling hands. The hitch in Jon’s breathing breaks their heart. “It’s okay, Jon. We love you so much, we won’t hurt you, of course we’d never hurt you.”

“You…” Jon wants to fight them, resist, but he knows now that their words are nothing but true. He can feel it in their hands, holding his, taking his hands until they’re theirs. They pull at him, tug him, holding him close, a full-body hug, soothing and cold-warm and heavy and thick all over. Jon’s fear buzzes throughout, but they remain steady, calming. 

Soon the fear is all gone. Muffled, fading, dissolving into the depths of them. The room is quiet and they’re content. 

* * *

The rest of the day is a little dreamy. They wander the archives, still too big, but not as bad as before. They try to work a little. They record a statement, but it doesn’t taste the way it usually does; still uncomfortable, but not so harrowing, not so draining. Martin doesn’t like reading it. Jon makes sure the end-notes are quick and turns off the tape recorder. Sasha files it away. Tim remembers they have to eat lunch sometime, and they make themselves some leftovers and some more tea. 

Some things are a little difficult to do as they are. If they become too aware of how quiet the archive is, their fingertips turn sticky, and it gets a little harder to move. They have to remind themselves that they’re right here, the warmth is inside, the pulse is a chorus and it’s a song that’s beautiful and comforting. Then the world becomes solid again and they can continue. 

Still, between work and breaks and surfing the internet for funny memes, then scolding themselves for slacking off, then getting distracted by a video of a cute cat, then wandering, then working… It all, slowly, weighs them down. By the end of the day, they realize they’re terrified of going home. To a boring flat and an empty bed and no one around. 

_But I have to go,_ they think. _It’s the end of the day. We can’t stay here, I have to go home._

_I have to go, but I don’t want you to._

_We can’t just… stay here. Like this._

_I don’t want to stay like this!_

_Please, don’t go!_

They put their hands on their chest, trying to calm down, trying to settle, but the world gets loose and drippy and they have to close their eyes. 

_Focus… focus… We’ll be okay._

_I just don’t want to be alone._

_I am alone,_ they think. _No one else around. Only me. How horrible._

_But we’re together!_

_I miss you, though. I want to see you._

The archive is too quiet, the office is too big; empty chairs, empty desks. They retreat into Jon’s office, where it’s a bit smaller, a little warmer with the light on. They sit in Jon’s chair and shiver and squirm, dripping onto the carpet, sinking into the leather. 

_We have to calm down… I think... I think something bad might happen, if we stay like this. We need to-_

_No!!_

_Let me go!_

_Wait! Calm, we have to stay calm. It’ll be okay, we’re not going to leave._

_I don’t want to be alone._

_We won’t be. We’ll be here, where you can see us, and you won’t be alone._

_How? How can we be here, but not… us?_

_I think…_

_I think, I think. Let me think for a moment, alright?_

They look at the desk, at their hands, losing their shape. That’s not good, it’s getting all over everything, the pens and papers. Jon grimaces and tries to pull back, but sticky strings remain between his hand and the mess on his desk. 

_His_ desk.

 _This is my desk,_ Jon thinks. _My desk. I’m Jon, and I’m not us, I’m me._

_But Jon…_

He likes it here, it’s cozy, to be surrounded and so sure of himself and his place. 

Jon sinks down, and they’re back where they started. 

_Not going to work,_ they think, distressed, relieved. 

_No, we can do this. I’ll try. I’ll try. I’m… Which am I? I don’t know, I don’t remember._

_Maybe you’re… when did you become us?_

_In the breakroom. We were drinking tea. I was- I made two cups, for me and Jon._

_But I took it, first._

_Who is ‘I’?_

_I… am Sasha._

_Sasha?_

_I’m Sasha!_

Their hand still oozes onto the desk, but then their hand isn’t just their hand. The jelly gives way to the shape of a hand not like their own, with skin and nails. 

“I’m Sasha,” they say out loud. “I’m Sasha James. I’m not Martin or Jon or Tim, I’m just me.” 

_I don’t want you to go,_ the voices in her head say. 

“Sorry, I think this is what we have to do,” she tells them, then slowly, inch by inch, pulls away. 

It’s odd, disconcerting. Sasha seems so far away, and further by the second. They want to reach out, to pull her back in, hold her and keep her, but she doesn’t want to, and at the same time they don’t want to, so they hold back and let her leave. 

She looks good standing there in front of them, though. She’s so apart from them it hurts. But she smiles at them, equal parts amused and horrified. “I can’t believe this,” she says, sounding a little dazed. “How did this happen?”

 _I don’t know,_ they think. Then, realizing she can’t hear them anymore, they say out loud, “I don’t know.” 

“Martin, I think this has to do with you,” she says. She looks like she wants to sit on the desk, then thinks better of it, grabbing the chair for guests and pulling it over until she’s seated in front of them. There’s too much space between her knees and theirs. They miss her, want to pull her back… “Guys, focus!”

They look back at her and think she looks so cute when she’s stern like this. Only a little intimidating. They’ve always liked Sasha’s no-nonsense attitude, her resolve and her persistence. She knows how to act, how to be, and never seems half as worried as them over anything. She really could have made a good archivist, even if she wasn’t technically qualified. No more qualified than any of them. 

“Gosh, you’re hopeless,” they hear her say, and try to tune back in. “All you’re doing is staring at me like you want to jump my bones… Or, ah, absorb them, I guess.”

“Sorry,” they say, fidgeting. 

“Look, Martin, pay attention. You said something about making some sort of jelly recipe this morning, right?”

“Last night,” Martin corrects. “I made it last night, and ate it this morning, before I came to work. Why?”

“You said you got the recipe from some random page you just found lying around?”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t that sound weird to you? Why did you even look at it, or go so out of your way to make it?”

“I wanted to make it for you,” he tells her. “I wanted all of us to have some. It said it was for my friends.” 

“But you only made one?”

“It only says how to make one serving.”

“That is so weird,” Sasha says, like it confirms her theory — whatever that is. Then she shakes her head and tells them, “Look, we’ll worry about the page later. For now, we need to get Tim and Jon out of there.”

They squirm some more, soak into the leather, drip off the chair. “I don’t…”

“I know you don’t want to be lonely,” Sasha tells them, trying to sound gentle, but her expression is a little too stern. “But staying like _this_ isn’t going to fix anything. You’ll just feel worse, and who knows what will happen if you stay together for too long?”

“But…”

“Tim, you don’t want to stay in there, do you?” Sasha asks. She reaches a hand out, but when they try to take it, she pulls back. “No, I just want Tim,” she tells them. She holds out her hand. “Tim?”

“I…” He wants to take her hand. He doesn’t want to lose her, or himself. The wrongness from before is hitting him again, the worry and the fear boiling in their stomach and rising up, up, until their skin seems to swirl and writhe with it. “I don’t want to be alone again,” they say, reaching. A hand emerges from the mess that is them. “Sasha?” 

“I’ll still be here,” she tells him, holding his fingertips with her own. A delicate, kind touch. “I’m not going to leave you behind, of course not! We’re best friends and it’s going to stay that way, right?”

“Right,” Tim says, and lets her pull him away. It hurts, but only a little. He likes to feel Sasha like this more, he decides. Her little nails, smooth, carefully cut, but never painted. Her curly hair, the gap between her teeth. 

Then Tim is gone, away from them for good, forever maybe. They start to cry, feeling like something inside is being shoveled out of them. 

“Hey, buddy,” Tim says, sympathetic. It’s the same voice he uses to appeal to Jon’s less prickly side; to soothe Martin when he’s just been to the nursing home. “It’s okay.”

“No it’s not,” they sigh, sniffling. “You’re all going to leave me.” 

“Not a chance.” 

“Why wouldn’t you?” they demand, grumpy, morose. “You don’t like me, not really. I’m just- you just deal with me because you have to.” 

“That’s not true,” Sasha says, sounding dangerously close to snapping. “Don’t be dense.” 

Tim puts a hand on Sasha’s shoulder — Oh, so he’ll touch _her_ — and takes a step between her and the others. “Jon, I’m going to talk to you for a second, okay boss?” 

They cross their arms. Tim smirks, then continues. “Yeah, it’s true, you can be sort of a bastard sometimes-”

“Tim!”

“Oh, he already knows!” Tim tells her, waving a hand nonchalantly. A stab of hurt courses though Jon, but then Tim is speaking again, “You know, we all know. But we also know you don’t really mean to be, most of the time. And you’re always trying, in your own way. Especially lately — don’t think we haven’t noticed!”

“Tim’s right,” Sasha says, leaning forward now, looking not-so-angry. “It's been really nice hanging out with you like friends, again.”

“Really?” 

“Of course! We had fun in research together, didn’t we? Why shouldn’t it be like that again?”

Tim nods. “And we’re even closer now.” 

“...Sure you are,” they say. “But what about me?”

For a second, Tim and Sasha share a look, confused. Then Tim goes, “Oh! Well, of course, now we have Martin.”

“Yes! Martin’s part of it all, too, aren’t you Martin?”

They don’t quite realize it, not consciously, but they’re becoming more solid again. Less unstable at the edges. Still, there’s a feeling so intangible at their core, it feels like they could collapse at any moment. “You’re going to hate me,” they say with a wobbling lip.

“Why would we hate you?” Sasha asks. 

“I did this, I caused all this, and- and now, when you leave, you’re going to be mad-”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Tim interrupts. “Martin, look, I don’t know what you did, but if Sasha’s right… I mean, it doesn’t sound like you meant to.”

“But- but…” 

“We won’t be mad. We aren’t mad,” Sasha tells them. She holds out a hand, and so does Tim. “Look, this will be easier to talk about once you’re out too, right? Come on now.”

“It’s going to be okay,” Tim adds. “We’re not going anywhere.” 

“You’re going to leave me,” Martin says, feeling so deep down that it’s true. But then something in him prickles, indignant. _No I’m not,_ he says. Then he reaches for Sasha’s hand, while Martin goes for Tim’s. 

It’s strange, pulling apart from each other. There’s a side of them that wants so much to stay. It was nice. It was easier than being apart, in some ways. But Jon is relieved to be himself again, and Martin realizes, as soon as the last of him is detached from Jon, that the loneliness would have been crushing. What would he have done, if it was just him always, wandering the archives in silence? Would the others have been lost inside him eventually? Would he have been lost? 

“Oh my god.” Martin puts a hand to his face, feeling terribly dizzy. His fingertips are sticky. Something about his skin, his hair, feels… off, still, even to himself. “God, I’m so sorry-”

“It’s fine,” Sasha tells him, and because it’s Sasha, he knows she means it. “Why don’t you sit back down?”

“...Maybe not in that chair,” Tim warns. “It still looks, uh, kinda sticky.”

“I can’t believe we ruined my chair,” Jon grumbles, eyeing the residue their body left behind. Then he’s looking at Martin with the same critical eye. “Are you… Martin, are you back to normal?”

“Um.” Martin pulls his hands away from his face to inspect them. There’s still a faintly translucent quality to his body, like seeing light bleed through at the edges of one’s fingertips. Having a wild thought, Martin reaches over to Jon’s desk for a pen and presses the end of it against- ah, _into_ his hand. It sinks through, and he can see the dark form of it, a little lost in his body, but still distinct. It doesn’t hurt. The end comes back out at his wrist. “I. Um.” 

“Maybe it will wear off?” Sasha offers, but doesn’t sound very confident for once. 

* * *

A week later finds one recipe page securely locked away in Artefact Storage, and the archives back to business as usual. Mostly. 

Largely, things haven’t changed much. Martin looks as he did before, acts like he did before. He can still work, sleep, eat, he just… doesn’t have to use the bathroom anymore, apparently. And he’s pretty sure his organs, if not entirely absent, are more like decorations than anything else. He has come to learn he does not even, technically, have to _breathe._

It’s kind of horrifying. A little funny. He doesn’t have bones anymore. He has skin, but it’s more like… a film, easily broken, fading back to that translucent, oozing substance. Sometimes he sticks things in his hands or arms without thinking, the same way he used to bite his nails while he stared at the computer screen. Sasha thinks it’s funny. 

That’s the other thing that’s changed, but only a little. He, Sasha, Tim, and Jon… They were all friends before the incident, of course. But now… It’s a little different. It’s strange, but… not bad. 

And during those times where Martin feels his otherness so acutely, feels himself begin to collapse at the center, until the loneliness bleeds out, making his form unravel, they’re quick to catch on. They don’t mind keeping him company, letting him take comfort in their nearness, their attention, their welcoming hands, holding his until there’s no _I_ or _me_ , just _we_ and _us_ , for a minute or two. Until he feels like himself again.

**Author's Note:**

> CWs: 
> 
> > Blanket warning for internal thoughts that include references to: allusions to rough family situations, existential loneliness, confusion/loss of identity, anxiety over losing friends/being alone, self-deprecation, etc. 
> 
> > Martin absorbing the others happens without their explicit consent, in that once they touch him, they become somewhat ‘a part’ of him, so his desire to absorb them becomes their willingness to let him… Essentially, they don’t exactly want to, until they don’t mind. So, consent issues. 
> 
> > While not explicit, the ‘absorption scenes’ are vaguely erotic, excluding Jon’s, which is more about closeness/comfort 
> 
> >This fic ends with Martin permanently as a slime! I wouldn’t consider this a bad-ending sorta scenario, but if something like that makes you sad/uncomfy, well there you go!!
> 
> [Here's the slime martin art I drew on twitter!](https://twitter.com/lusty_charming/status/1348388140009070593?s=20)
> 
> For Martin's appearance: I imagine he gains minor traits based off the person he assimilates. So for example, after he absorbs Sasha, his hair/eyes might change, he'd have more/less freckles, etc. I didn't want to impose too many personal headcanons on folks, plus it would be difficult to describe their appearance while sticking to a 'limited' POV, so I left specifics up to the reader. 
> 
> For his flavor: strawberry! I imagined this as a very 'lovecore' aesthetic, and I love strawberry flavored things, so that's my take on it. You can see this reflected in the art I linked.


End file.
